


More

by chaos_monkey



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Frottage, Geralt's fantastic ass, Getting Together, M/M, Massage, like it's still explicit but they're BEING soft, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25551460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_monkey/pseuds/chaos_monkey
Summary: Jaskier gives Geralt a massage that turns into something else, much to everyone's delight.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 53
Kudos: 538
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection, Banned Together Bingo 2020





	More

**Author's Note:**

> I finally tidied up this little ficlet I originally posted on [tumblr](https://chaos-monkeyy.tumblr.com/post/621225070621245440/since-my-brain-wont-stop-pestering-me-with-random)!  
> My fixation on Jaskier massaging Geralt's lovely bottom comes largely from the [chamomile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029020/chapters/58936777) chapter of valdomarx's Brothel Adventures, the entire fic of which I highly recommend if you haven't read it yet.

Jaskier wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here, like this— clad in nothing but his undershorts, straddling the back of Geralt’s bare thighs with the witcher stretched out naked on the bed, pale skin shining with oil and his usual grunts muffled into the bedding and notably slushier than normal. 

Jaskier wasn’t sure at all, but he was absolutely not complaining. 

“How’s that?” he asked, digging his thumbs in along the edges of Geralt’s shoulder blades again. 

“Mm.” 

Contented grunt, Jaskier translated in his head. Good. 

“More?” 

“Hmm.” Affirmative grunt. 

Grinning to himself, Jaskier pressed the oil-slick heels of his palms into Geralt’s lower back— such a wonderfully muscular back, but far too tense, honestly— and slid them slowly up the entire length of the muscles to either side of the witcher’s spine, pressing hard the whole way. Geralt groaned under his touch as the long muscles almost crackled under the pressure, practically seeming to _melt_ under Jaskier’s hands. 

Jaskier did it again, leaning forward to get all the way up to Geralt’s shoulders this time, and only realized he’d inadvertently rubbed certain sensitive portions of his anatomy up against the rounded— and, well, very pleasingly firm— curve of Geralt’s ass when the witcher’s hips shifted, his back arching slightly under Jaskier to... to— 

Sitting up, Jaskier hesitated for a heartbeat before repeating the motion, complete with another, less accidental little press of his half-hard cock against Geralt’s ass at the very end— and yes, he hadn’t been mistaken, Geralt pushed his hips back and up into it again with a quiet sound that could almost be described as a bitten-off whimper. 

Jaskier nearly swallowed his tongue, his heart skipping a beat and a dizzying flare of lust curling through him. He’d fantasized about… this, or this sort of thing anyway, with Geralt before. How could he _not._ He had a pulse, and eyes. But the reality of being barely clothed and increasingly aroused, kneeling on all fours over the naked witcher— who must surely have noticed that arousal by now, pressed lightly but fairly overtly against his ass as it was— that reality was, in a word, _thrilling._

Especially with Geralt seemingly much more… _pliant_ than in any fantasies Jaskier had concocted in his imagination. Until just now, at least. Now, Jaskier could think of quite a few new fantasies that he had reason to think might actually play out, tonight or… possibly even other nights, if he was lucky. 

Greatly daring, Jaskier added a tiny but blatant roll of his hips, grinding his barely-clothed and rapidly stiffening cock against Geralt’s bare ass. Just a little. 

“More? he asked again, dropping his tone to a warm, throaty murmur and oddly proud of the way his voice stayed steady despite his heart thudding in his chest with nervous excitement and sheer _want._

Geralt actually _moaned,_ nodding into the pillow, his hips raising off the mattress to press against Jaskier again. Catching his bottom lip between his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm and take his time, Jaskier obliged, trailing his slippery hands lightly down the length of Geralt’s back as he sat up. He wriggled backwards a little without ever taking his hands off Geralt’s skin, sliding them down the dip of the witcher’s lower back— and then lower still, marveling at just how incredibly _round_ Geralt’s ass was. 

It felt even better in his hands than it looked; and Jaskier was not averse to admitting that had looked and admired quite a lot, thank you. He paused briefly to re-apply fresh oil to his hands before continuing the massage, digging in with his thumbs, squeezing and pressing and kneading deep into those taut muscles; until he had Geralt’s hips rocking in a slow rhythm right along with him. 

Jaskier’s shorts had grown incredibly, uncomfortably tight by that point, tenting out rather obscenely between his spread legs. The situation was not helped by the knowledge that Geralt was, Jaskier was quite certain, also hard and grinding down into the mattress under his hands. Or by the tantalizing glimpses he had of the distinctly inviting depths between Geralt’s ass cheeks when he spread them slightly with his hands, and the curve of Geralt’s balls peeking out between the very tops of his thighs— and oh, those thighs were all but begging for some attention of their own, but perhaps that would wait for another time because Jaskier thought he might very well lose his mind if he didn’t get a little friction on his own cock very, very soon. 

Giving Geralt’s lovely cheeks one final squeeze and a little two-handed pat— and, admittedly, taking one last, lingering look at the truly fantastic view— Jaskier skimmed his palms up Geralt’s sides to drop down on all fours over top of him, purposely ghosting a breath over the back of the witcher’s neck. And this time, Jaskier made no attempt whatsoever to hide his arousal. Ignoring the oil that was undoubtedly staining his underclothes for good, he let his hips rock in the same rhythm he’d been using with his hands only moments before, but now it was his achingly stiff cock rubbing hard against the curve of Geralt’s ass. 

“More?” 

“ _Mmh._ ” 

That was a new grunt, one Jaskier had _not_ yet learned, but he had a very good inkling of the meaning behind it based on the faint but unmistakably plaintive tone of its delivery; as well as on the undulation of muscle beneath him as Geralt’s hips pushed back into his crotch and then down into the mattress. 

…Repeatedly. 

Lowering himself closer to Geralt, Jaskier broke his slow, shallow rhythm to press his hips forward and down in a single deliberate, hard thrust instead. Geralt made that delicious, needy-sounding grunt again, louder this time, the muscles of his ass tightening as he ground himself down against the mattress with his hands fisting in the sheets beside his head. 

His heart thumping wildly in his chest and his head swimming with a dizzying swirl of fresh desire, Jaskier reached down between them to push his shorts out of the way. He couldn’t help the shivering gasp that escaped him at the feel of Geralt’s oil-slick skin against his naked cock, the sound echoed almost simultaneously by the witcher as well. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Jaskier thrust again, and again, groaning as his aching cock slid easily along the cleft of Geralt’s ass. 

Geralt was panting under him, matching him thrust for thrust; and Jaskier pressed the length of his body to the witcher’s bare back while they moved together, needing to feel as much of Geralt’s skin against his as he possibly could. He already knew he wasn’t going to last long at all; not with Geralt all but squirming under him and rutting helplessly into the bed, and certainly not with his cock being squeezed between Geralt’s ass cheeks as they clenched with the witcher’s every thrust. 

He was just thinking, distantly, as his balls pulled in even tighter and the insistent heat in his core rushed towards the snapping point at breakneck speed, that he’d enjoy giving Geralt a hand— or maybe a mouth— to finish off as well, when Geralt jerked and went rigid, the witcher’s harshly panting breaths becoming a single, long, strangled groan instead. 

_Oh,_ Jaskier thought, and then he was soaring straight over the edge and aware of nothing but how wonderful Geralt felt still twitching and trembling under him as he came, spilling out in hot waves of bliss onto skin already slippery with oil and sweat. 

A slightly shaky, deeply contented sigh of delight welled up in Jaskier’s throat as he slumped bonelessly on top of Geralt, reasonably certain his weight wouldn’t be a problem for the witcher. Geralt was still breathing hard under him and Jaskier smiled, leaning in to mouth a kiss into his shoulder— 

And then choked and coughed, rolling off of Geralt’s back and spluttering at the awful, bitter taste coating his tongue. 

“Oh! Oh, no. Wow. That’s… that oil does _not_ taste nearly as pleasant as it smells, Geralt,” Jaskier said, grimacing. He was about to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, but remembered just in time that it would _also_ be covered in chamomile oil and used a clean— he hoped— corner of the bedsheet to try and scrub the residue from his hands and his tongue. “Just in case you ever wondered, I can now— euch— _definitely_ attest to the fact,” he finished, flopping down on the bed next to Geralt. 

The witcher had rolled onto his side, watching the proceedings with his head propped on his hand and one of those subtly amused smirks on his face. And not attempting to help, of course. 

Jaskier huffed, mirroring Geralt’s pose. “You could at least have fetched me some water or something, Geralt. What if I’d been _poisoned?_ Some things are _not_ meant to be ingested- _mmf—_ mm…” 

Jaskier melted happily into the kiss Geralt planted on his lips, chasing the witcher’s mouth with his when he felt Geralt hesitate and start to pull back. 

Geralt didn’t hesitate again after that, his lips parting readily and his tongue soft and wet against Jaskier’s. Jaskier just got blissfully lost in his mouth for awhile as they kissed, long and slow and easy, drinking in the soft little moans he never thought he’d hear _Geralt_ make and tangling his fingers lightly through Geralt’s bed-mussed hair the way he never thought he’d get to do. 

When they both finally came up for air again, Jaskier met Geralt’s eyes, the amber rings almost seeming to glow around the pure black pools of his pupils. 

“More?” Jaskier murmured, unusually at a loss for words but meaning both now and… and _after._ After whatever delightful trance they’d somehow fallen into together here and now inevitably ended. 

“Mmm,” Geralt hummed, smiling. It was soft, unguarded, an expression Jaskier had never seen on the witcher before; and something all at once warm and painful and _good_ swelled deep in his chest and tightened his throat when Geralt wrapped an arm around his sweat-slick back and gently pulled him closer. “Yes.” 


End file.
